


My Little Princess

by Diablerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Daddy Kink, Feminization, First Time Sex, Foreplay, M/M, Mild Humiliation, Non-Negotiated Kink, Orgasm Delay, PWP, mild blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablerie/pseuds/Diablerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter conveniently appears in his room to help Stiles with his terminal case of virginity, things take an unexpectedly intense turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Little Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fidelius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidelius/gifts).



> We hope you enjoy your gift! ~~(Hopefully, the next few parts won't take as long to write).~~
> 
> Thanks to Elpie and Taylor for the advice and minor corrections/reminders! Extra thanks for telling us that the porn was good.
> 
> Super special acknowledgements to Taylor for this:
> 
> Peter licked Stiles’ sweet salami sword. Damn. It felt good. DAMN SON, ME LIKEY SOME SALAMMMIIIII. So spicy. So salty. Very meat. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Expanded warnings in the end notes**

 

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Stiles asks without bothering to turn around as the werewolf steps through the window.

 

“I heard you had a terminal case of virginity. Thought I'd offer my _services_.” Peter slinks into the room, stretching his body out on Stiles’ bed.

 

“You're a little old to be hanging around a boys’ locker room, don't you think?” Stiles questions, turning to face Peter with a sigh.  

 

“It has its advantages. Namely, the opportunity to help out a beloved pack member.”

 

Stiles glares. “You're not one to help without it benefiting you. What’s the catch? Are you trying to piss off Scott and Derek?”

 

Peter simply sighs in the face of Stiles’ disapproval. “Do you truly think so little of me? I'm merely being... opportunistic. Taking advantage of what would undoubtedly be a _pleasant_ solution to your problem.”

 

“...Pleasant?” Stiles mouth hangs open. “You’re seriously saying you want to fuck me!? Are you _fucking kidding_ _me_?”

 

Peter just offers him lecherous grin and Stiles hands flail. “Oh my god. You're like twice my age. Plus, it's illegal.”

 

He sing-songs, “I won’t tell if you don't.”

 

“You're being so creepy right now, y’know? Keep in mind my father _is_ the sheriff.”

 

“Yes, that would be the _I'll keep it a secret if you do_ part. The sheriff showing up at my doorstep to arrest me could result in an unfortunate accident. “

 

“Don't _even joke_ about that.”

 

Peter raises his hands up innocently, rising gracefully from the bed. “I'm not threatening to kill him. Possibly maim? Or is that still enough to make you pissy?”

 

“You even touch my father, and you'll live to regret it.” Stiles hisses.

 

Peter chuckles. “See Stiles. This is why I like you. From anyone else those words would mean next to nothing. But you? I know you will do _whatever_ it takes.” Peter's hands trail up his arms and across his neck. “Even if it is just to protect the motley crew of teenagers calling themselves a pack.”

 

Stiles leans into Peter’s hand for a second before stepping back, shaking his head. “ No Peter, this is… I’m not having sex with you. I’ll just find someone else.”

 

Peter snorts. “Yes, and how’s that worked for you in the past few years?”

 

He flails. “Jesus Christ, Peter! I’m only sixteen.”

 

“Oh you little innocent.” Peter says in obvious delight. “By the time _I_ was fifteen, I had already fucked my way through half of Talia’s friends.”

 

His mouth twists at that new, unsurprising tidbit. “You’re disgusting. You know that right?”

 

“Yet you’re still considering this...” Peter trails off leadingly.

 

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, I am. But only because I don’t want to die. Don’t read too much into it. I like living… and all that.”

 

“Mmmm… and _all that_.” Peter steps in closer, pushing Stiles flat against his bed. “It’s much better to fuck someone older, you know. Someone who’ll pay attention to your pleasure. Someone who can _teach_ you every little thing you need to know.”

 

Peter leans in, voice hot in Stiles’ ear, and slips a hand down to cup the teen’s ass. “I’m not one of those fumbling teenagers from school, sweetheart. I know just where to touch.” Each word is punctuated with a slow, dirty grind against the boy’s growing erection.

 

For a moment, he struggles with the pros and cons before his better judgement is taken out back and shot by his libido.

 

“Aw, fuck it. If we’re going to do this then let’s do this.” Stiles says with a huff as he pulls Peter in by the nape of his neck.

 

Stiles mashes his lips to Peter’s in a graceless move that’s more bite than kiss until their teeth bang together one too many times. Peter’s laugh vibrates against his lips as he takes control. The older man gently takes Stiles’ face in his hands, gentling the kiss. Peter seems to know exactly how to fit soft lips against his own. The way he takes advantage of the momentary weakness of an indrawn breath to slide his tongue into Stiles’ mouth is shockingly good. The stroke of a tongue across the roof of his mouth is foreign, exciting. It’s too much to keep track of breathing _and_ returning the kiss, so he clings to Peter’s shoulders dizzy from lack of air yet unwilling to part.

 

Together they fall onto the bed, Peter’s body heavy against his own. Arms bracketing his body, his face pink as he stares down at Stiles. Blue eyes trace down the line of his pale, bared throat. It’s satisfying to see undeniable proof of Peter’s interest when Stiles feels exposed and undone after a bit of kissing. Chest heaving, he arches his neck to a more extreme degree knowing Peter can see and hear the rapid flutter of his pulse under thin skin.

 

“C’mon, Peter.” Stiles whines and shifts under his weight. “You said you’d make me feel good.”

 

His hand sneaks down the back of Peter’s pants, yanking the older man even closer as they frot together heedlessly.

 

“Such an eager, little thing,” Peter taunts.

 

“Shut up, and get on with it. I wanna come.”

 

“Not yet. I’m not nearly finished with you, Stiles.”

 

Peter leans back, straddling Stiles’ waist. “How attached to these clothes are you?”

 

Stiles purses his lips in consideration. “Not very? I mean they’re just—” He’s startled into silence when, after that one not-so-idle question, Peter flicks out his claws and literally _rends_ the clothes from his body like Stiles is some kind of 80’s romance novel heroine. That display of werewolf machismo would be utterly ridiculous and annoying if it didn’t happen to make his dick jump and leak on his belly.

 

As careful as he knows Peter is being, Stiles still winds up with a few tiny cuts along his legs. It’s nothing worse than what he gives himself the few times he’s shaved. They barely sting. There’s barely any blood, but it’s clearly enough for Peter to notice. His nostrils flare as he takes in the scent, and his face appears somehow more lupine without shifting at all.

 

The wolf growls low in throat before bending down to lap at the blood welling up mere inches from his groin. Soon the licking changes to deep sucks as though Peter can’t help but chase after more of Stiles’  _blood_. This should be setting off every mental alarm he has, but Stiles has spent too much time courting danger with werewolves. Stiles _knows_ he should be scared. He’s so much prey caught by a clever trap. Except when Peter finally lifts his mouth from the cut, looking like he wants to devour him whole, it’s a heady feeling. What started as the straightforward desire to get rid of his virginity is now the desire to be consumed by him.

 

His thoughts scatter by Peter’s ability to turn a simple slide into something more. He _stalks_ his way up the lanky body splayed under him, trailing proprietary hands over previously untouched skin.

 

Peter’s voice is a low rumble. It sends a shock of arousal straight to his dick. “Oh, sweetheart. You taste like sin.”

 

At those words, Stiles manages to corral his flailing hands in an effort to yank Peter’s clothing off. He just manages to get the indecent v-neck off of the older man before he’s distracted again. A fine covering of hair spreads over Peter’s chest and arrows down in a neat line, drawing his eyes lower and _lower_. Stiles reaches down, fingers carefully threading through it, stroking Peter’s muscular chest. He can feel the vibrations when Peter chuckles, returning to kissing Stiles’ neck.

 

 _Speaking of necks._ With it arching in front of him, Stiles can almost imagine the wolf is submitting to him, his thick neck exposed for him to suck and bite. Lost in his own thoughts, Stiles hardly notices Peter moving down his body until the wolf roughly sucks a mark next to his nipple.

 

He hums smugly. “I knew you’d have pretty skin but I didn’t know you’d have such puffy, little tits. Just like a girl’s.”

 

Stiles squirms in embarrassed pleasure. He’s _not_ a girl, doesn’t want to be one _at all_ , but hearing that rough voice call him _sweetheart_   and talk about his _tits_ makes him think he wouldn’t mind playing at it. Just a little bit.   

 

Still… he can’t let the wolf win without a token protest. Stiles mumbles, “I‘m not a girl, Peter.”

 

“Oh, but you are darling. Such a sweet little girl, saving yourself just for me.”

 

“Stop it.” Stiles whines, clinging to Peter.  

 

“Why would I stop Stiles? I know exactly how desperate you are for this—how desperate you are for me. You must have been so glad when I came back, sweetheart. You know I’m the only one who can give you what you need.” Peter moves in close, his lips hovering over Stiles’.

 

Stiles surges up, closing the distance and slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth, tracing over the points of his fangs. Perhaps it’s only in his mind, but he can still detect the faint metallic aftertaste of his own blood clinging to Peter’s tongue. It’s so fucked up. He loves it.

 

The older man lets him take charge of the kiss, but he isn’t idle by any means. Peter’s hands rove over his chest, claws catching on a perky nipple, and barely breaking the skin. Stiles groans into the kiss, at the sting, as Peter sends him sprawling down to the bed. He fastens his mouth to the welling drops of blood like he’s ravenous for everything Stiles has to offer.

 

“Fuck, Peter!” Stiles gasps and clutches at Peter’s dark hair in desperation while the man, and there’s no other word for it, _nurses_.

 

“It’s okay baby girl,” he says around his mouthful, “I’ll take care of you.”

 

“Please, Peter. _Please_. I need you to touch me.”

 

The wet sound of that mouth popping off of his sore chest is obscene. He shudders in disgust. It has to be disgust, right?

 

“C’mon sweetheart,” Peter coaxes, “you have to let me go if you want something else.” Stiles practically rips his hands away so Peter can move. “Mmm. You’re so wet, baby. Leaking all over yourself like a dirty girl. Is all of this for me?”

 

He swirls his tongue inside the dip of Stiles’ navel, murmuring appreciative filth the whole time. Stiles knows he’s being handled. Peter is absolutely manipulating his responses, but that doesn’t stop his skin from prickling with mingled shame and desire. He hates it, but it still feels like he’ll die if Peter doesn’t fuck him, suck him, _something_. Instead, the man stares at him like the cat that got the proverbial cream, and refuses to touch him where he most wants it.

 

“Such a pretty clit you have, darling.” Peter purrs, kissing and licking at Stiles thighs, hot breath curling around his dick.

 

“ _Peter_.” Stiles squirms uneasily in his hold.

 

“Tell me what you want.” Peter demands with flashing eyes.

 

“I want you to touch it.”

 

“Touch what, sweetheart?”

 

“ _You know_. Stop breathing on it, and suck my dick you asshole.” Stiles whines.

 

“You’re not being very nice, Stiles. Be a good girl for me, and tell me what you want _specifically_.”

 

“Damnit... Peter.” Stiles groans, his arm coming up to hide his face. “I want you to touch my… want you to touch my clit.”

 

“Well, how could I say no when you ask so prettily, darling.”

 

In one swift motion Peter swallowed him down, easily taking Stiles into his throat. The wet heat surrounding him feels so different from jacking it with his own hand.

 

“ _Ohmygod_ , your fucking mouth Peter.” Stiles moaned. “How are you even—you suck dick like it’s your fucking job.”

 

Peter eases back far enough to say, “That was only for a few years Stiles, don’t be such a prude.”

 

He moans, “Jesus Christ, Peter. Are you even real?”

 

It’s overwhelming, watching Peter’s perfect throat working around his cock is more than he can bear. Stiles feels his orgasm rushing through him, almost taking him off guard. The sensations are more intense than anything he’s experienced before. This is the part when he’d normally flop lazily in a post-orgasmic haze, but Peter milks him through climax with an unsurprising ease given his former profession. The man refuses to let go of Stiles’ spent dick until the boy’s lashes are spiky with tears and he feebly tries to shove his head away.

 

“Aww,” he coos. “Is that too much for your little clit, baby? I’ll have to train you up 'til you can let me play with you for as long as I want.” He drops a brief kiss onto the tip of Stiles’ nose then stands to remove his pants. Stiles shivers at the loss of heat above him, restraining himself from begging the man to come back. He must make some sound, some indication of his unhappiness, because Peter quickly returns to blanket him with his _naked_ body.

 

“Oh, Stiles. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’d never leave you wanting.”

 

Stiles melts a bit at the reassurance. For the first time tonight, he’s able to simply enjoy what’s happening without worrying about how or why. He buries his face against Peter’s chest, rubbing his own smooth cheek on the rough hair. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s the man’s personal scent or if werewolves deign to wear cologne, but it’s _incredible_. Given the opportunity, he could lie here and happily breathe him in for hours, but the insistent pressure at his thigh proves too great a distraction.

 

 _Oh_. That’s Peter’s cock rubbing at the juncture of his thighs, hot and heavy and _so hard_. Holy shit. How do his stupid, tight pants not crush his dick? Stiles’ brain short-circuits at the thought of Peter sliding his, frankly, gigantic dick inside of him. He can’t help squirming beneath the man so he can thrust his rapidly recovering dick against Peter’s. He can’t quite find the angle, so he shoves his hand between their bodies to line them up together. _Fuck_. He can’t even wrap his hand around them both, Peter’s so thick. His traitorous dick twitches at the mental image of sucking that length into his mouth, trying to take it into his throat the same easy way Peter had done for him.

 

“Can I—do you—” his voice cracks, “do you want me to suck you off?”

 

“No darling, this is all about you. Let Daddy take care of his baby.”

 

Stiles freezes at that last comment. _Daddy_. With Peter’s mouth on his cock it’s easy to accept the girl talk, but Stiles isn’t sure what he thinks about _that_. Peter doesn’t let him ponder it very long before he’s using his supernatural strength to flip Stiles onto his stomach. The feel of the blanket against his sensitive cock is enough to make him whine, torn between thrusting against the bed and pushing back into the hand smoothing across his ass.

 

“You going to spread yourself for me, baby girl? Show me that pretty, pink hole?”

 

“ _Peter_.” Stiles groans, burying his face in the bed even as he reaches back to do as the older man requests while Peter settles behind him. He flushes red and trembles at the feel of another person’s breath falling heavily on his exposed rim.

 

“There you are. There’s your slutty cunt, so wet for me.” Peter murmurs as he peppers soft kisses over Stiles’ sensitive skin.

 

The teasing kisses feel good, but they still leave him wanting more. His back instinctively arches in an attempt to push himself closer to Peter.

 

Large hands grip his hips, pushing and pulling him into a new position. “Come on, baby,” Peter encourages, “up on your knees for me. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

 

“What… What are you going to do?”

 

“First, I want to get a taste of your sweet pussy, and then I’m going to stretch open my baby girl and get you ready for my cock. Does that sound good, darling?”

 

“Peter, I’m not a girl. I don’t have a _pussy_.”

 

“Oh but you are a girl, _my_ little girl. And this is too cute to be anything but a pussy. My lovely, pink cunt.” Stiles squeals in surprise as Peter tongues his ass. “All wet for Daddy.”

 

There it is again. _Daddy_. It’s not anything Stiles has ever thought of before, but he can’t deny the way it makes his dick twitch every time Peter says the word. Stiles is a normal sixteen year old boy. He watches porn, probably more often than most. He wants to try everything, but this is too much too soon. Stiles can’t handle the emotions it stirs, this need to please Peter and gain his approval is a dark mirror of his feelings towards his _real_ father. He’s strung out and needy for anything Peter wants to give him; this is probably the most danger he’s ever been in, and he _loves it_.   

 

“Do you need my fingers sweetheart? Do you need me to fill your slutty hole?”

 

“ _Yeah_ , I need it, Peter.”

 

Stiles isn’t sure where Peter gets the lube from, but wet fingers begin to stroke over the twitching muscle. He tenses nervously, the touch unfamiliar even after Peter lavished it with attention. The older man teases at it, prodding at the entrance only to pull back and continue the gentle strokes. Stiles feels his body relaxing, settling against the intrusion. It must be what Peter is waiting for because, this time, the finger pushes in further. A high pitched squeak escapes his mouth, the foreign touch a surprise even after everything that’s happened so far. The mysterious lube makes its grand return, and cold liquid drizzles over his rim. Peter withdraws his finger only to push it back in with more of the lube. This time it feels less strange. This time it feels _really good_.

 

Peter keeps up a steady pace with one finger until Stiles is moaning and rocking back in time. Whenever he tries to finger himself, it’s awkward and unsatisfying. He usually gives up on finding his prostate when his wrist starts cramping, but _now_ Stiles is beginning to understand the appeal. Of course, the minute he begins to enjoy it is the minute Peter takes it all away. When Peter removes his finger Stiles lets out a whine, the warm chuckle behind him is both annoying and comforting. Soon enough Peter’s touch returns, two fingers stroking over his rim before pushing in.

 

It's too much. Peter's fingers are much bigger than his own and fitting two is a stretch. Stiles tries to squirm away but a hand on his hip keeps him in place.

 

"Hold on, sweetheart, just give it a second."

 

Peter's hand inside him doesn't move, his other strokes down Stiles' side. Slowly, Stiles feels his body relax. Peter's quiet assurances and gentle hand let him settle back, accepting the intrusion. Tentatively he rolls his hips back, allowing Peter's fingers to push even deeper. This feels better. It feels great actually. Stiles slowly speeds up until he's fucking himself on Peter's fingers. That's when Peter curls his finger and he feels _it_ , like electricity racing through his body; Stiles releases a broken sob as Peter rubs over his prostate.

 

" _There_ it is." Peter says in smug satisfaction. " Feels good doesn't it, baby girl? You love it when Daddy fills up your pussy."

 

"Fuck,” Stiles gasps. “Yeah, come on Peter. Do that again. Please!"

 

“Now now Stiles, that’s not how good girls ask for things. Try again, and this time ask Daddy nicely.”

 

Stiles lets out a cry, eyes watering, he _needs_ this. Needs Peter to keep touching him, needs to come, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to say what the older man wants.

 

“I… I can’t. I can’t do it.” Stiles cries, straining to rock back against Peter’s fingers even though he’s held in place.

 

“Yes darling. You can, and you will. You’re going to hold yourself open and beg for Daddy’s cock.”

 

Stiles trembles in indecision. It’s impossible to think speared as he is on Peter’s fingers and desperate for _deeperhardermore_ , but the longer the man refuses to move, the easier it is to give in to his demands. Is it really too much in exchange for what’s already the defining sexual experience of his life? The angry pulsing from his dick says nothing would be too much.

 

Stiles shifts to rest his weight on his shoulders, the rustling of the bed seems unnaturally loud. He reaches back to spread his cheeks, and finds himself encouraged by the pleased rumble that comes from behind him.

 

“One more thing, and I’ll give you what you need.”

 

Stiles looks back over his shoulder, vision blurry from unshed tears, and whispers, “ I want your cock. Please… Please Daddy I need it.”

 

Peter’s fingers thrust back in, grazing over his prostate with unerring accuracy. Stiles shivers as he approaches his second orgasm of the night.

 

“Good girls get rewards, but I don’t want you coming again until I get to feel your pussy milking my cock.”

 

Stiles can’t hold back his cries. The gentle, constant pressure on _that_ spot inside him confirms everything he sees in porn. Prostate stimulation is amazingly good, and he’s so ready to see if Peter can deliver on his promises – even if he has to call him daddy.

 

“Yeah, Daddy.” His fingers make white marks stand out against his skin where he’s digging them into the meat of his ass. He moans, “I’m ready for it. Want you in me now.”

 

“Soon, Stiles. I promise,” Peter says in a soothing voice. He grabs the lube from where it lies and carelessly flicks open the cap. There’s a wet sound as he hastily slicks himself up, and then the man’s easing his fingers out with a slow brush over Stiles’ prostate.

 

Peter makes an appreciative noise as his fingers fall away. “Your little hole is blushing pink for me. Raise your hips up, baby girl.”

 

Stiles pops up his hips immediately, wanton and eager for more. Already his hole feels empty—needy for Peter to finally fill him with that gorgeous, thick cock.

 

The head of Peter’s cock circles his entrance and teasingly dips in and out, spreading his rim in a nearly painful stretch. Stiles forces himself to slow his panting and bear down as Peter continues his own brand of filthy encouragement. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. You’re ready for me, just open up. Relax, and let Daddy fill you up.”

 

He’s rewarded by his efforts when the widest part eventually slips past the tight resistance, but the boy can’t hold back a groan when Peter stops. Again. Stiles moans and arches his back, forcing more weight on his shoulders in the attempt to bring Peter deeper inside, but he only shushes him and laughs.

 

“You promised to give me what I wanted,” he whines without shame.

 

“I’m sorry, baby girl. Couldn’t help it,” Peter breathes out. “Love the way your pussy clutches at me. Milking the tip like it’s so hungry for cum.” The man settles his hands over Stiles’ and tangles their fingers together, drawing him backwards by the hips until his length is buried inside.

 

Stiles shudders, not used to being this _full_. Peter lets him adjust for a moment, but even a brief respite can’t prepare him for the exquisite stretch. He can feel the way his hole clings to Peter at each thrust, desperately trying to hold him close. The man maintains a slow, steady pace. Every drag against his prostate is deliberate, calculated to heighten his need.

 

He moans when Peter takes his hands and settles them under him again so that he can support his weight. Then the man leans forward and changes the angle of his thrusts. Somehow it’s even more intense, the blunt head of his cock a constant pressure on Stiles’ swollen gland.

 

Peter sucks and bites along the knobs of the boy’s spine, leaving a trail of marks on the way to his destination. He drapes himself over Stiles, mouth brushing his ear and purrs. “I'm just trying to take care of you, Stiles. Stuff your cunt full with my cock, and paint you with my cum. All I want is to be good to you, princess. Don’t you want that, too?”

 

It’s easy to ignore the answers to those questions when Peter thrusts into him, and he’s rutting desperately against the bed. He startles when one thick arm forces him up so he’s wholly seated on Peter’s lap, impaled on a cock. There’s no hope of getting the friction he needs unless Peter gives his permission.

 

Fresh tears slide down his sweaty face. Stiles writhes and twists in the iron grip anchoring his hips, but it’s useless. He cries, “I was so close. _Please_ , Daddy. I can’t come without help.”

 

The man laughs a little meanly and circles his hips, driving his cock forward in a filthy grind, and making Stiles whimper pathetically.

 

“You don’t get to do that princess. Don’t you trust me? You’re _mine_ to take care of. _Mine_ to touch. Your pretty, little clit belongs to me.”

 

Stiles sobs at a particularly brutal stroke. He wails out, “Sorry! _I’m sorry!_ I do trust you, Daddy. Touch me, please.”

 

Peter stills his hips, effortlessly keeping Stiles pinned and motionless. “It’s too late for that, princess. Little sluts who touch their clits without permission have to come on Daddy's cock without any help.”

 

He eases his grip just enough to stroke the straining muscles under one hand. “I’ll make you so happy if you accept it, princess.”

 

The boy sniffles and shakes his head.

 

“Why is it so hard to admit what you want? What you are to me?”

 

The thing is that he does want it—wants to be Peter’s princess. To forget about the world around him and only focus on the pleasure being offered to him. He bites down on his lip in an attempt to clear his head. All he has to do is say the words. No one has to know if he means them.

 

The words are shaky, inaudible to human ears, but he manages to whisper, “I need it, Daddy. Need you to ruin the virgin cunt I saved for you.”

 

Peter loosens his hold on Stiles, and nuzzles his throat. “Go on, princess,” he urges, “What else?”

 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to turn his face into Peter, but the man won’t let him. He sobs brokenly and begs. “Please Daddy, fill me up, _breed me_. Want everyone to know I’m yours.”

 

“Good girl,” he praises. “What are you, baby?”

 

“‘m your princess!”

 

“Do you need Daddy to touch your clit so you can come?”

 

“Yes, please Daddy. Please touch your clit.”

 

At Stiles’ tear-filled admission, Peter sucks a mark at the hinge of his jaw. “That’s right, princess. All of you belongs to me. Show me how well you can behave, and ride daddy’s cock.”

 

Stiles raises his arms to thread his fingers through Peter’s hair, hanging on as he bounces on his daddy’s perfect cock. His body is tense, thighs burning as he moves atop him. Fingers tease at his abused nipples, still aching from their previous torture.

 

He keens, “Wanna come now, Daddy. I’m a good girl.”

 

The teasing fingers travel down to wrap around his aching clit, sending sparks shivering down his spine. The man’s previous calm demeanor is finally unraveling. Almost imperceptible tremors run through his thighs, and Stiles can feel his daddy’s heart pounding where he leans against his chest. But nowhere else is the lack of calm more obvious than the voice turned rough and wolfish. Stiles sags in his embrace while the deep rumble surrounds him in a comforting bubble. Here, in this moment, nothing else exists. Stiles’ entire reality begins and ends in being Daddy’s princess—his good girl.  

 

“You can come now princess, you’ve been such a good girl for me, so perfect.” he bites out, slamming Stiles down on his cock with his free hand. “Come for Daddy.”

 

At the stern command, he goes rigid and comes with a shocked wail. While Stiles trembles, he’s gently stroked through the aftershocks. Once he collapses back on the solid warmth beneath him, Peter brings his fingers up to Stiles’ mouth, spreading the fluid across his lips before he latches on to nurse tiredly at his own cum.

 

Stiles allows himself to be moved like a doll, pliant and exhausted from multiple orgasms. With one hand filling his mouth and the other cradling him close, his daddy frantically fucks his cock into Stiles’ relaxed hole until there’s a spasm and a slight rush of wet heat. He smiles dopily at the reminder that he can trust his daddy to do what he promises and works his muscles around the softening cock still filling him up, holding in the mess of cum and lube.

 

As he’s maneuvered under the wet blanket and on his side, Stiles jolts in alarm. He moistens his dry mouth, so he’s able to slur, “Don’t pull out, Daddy. Gotta keep it in me, so it takes. Wanna be your good girl.”

 

“Shh. Of course, I’ll stay. Lie back, princess.”

 

Stiles obeys at the reassurance, snuggling into strong arms as they surround him, wrapping him in a cocoon of security and comfort. He falls asleep to a soft voice murmuring praise in his sweat damp hair.

 

“Rest now, Stiles. Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Stiles wakes up and has definite feelings about what happened with Peter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let us know if we missed a tag, gross typo, or some other mistake. Thanks for reading!
> 
>    
>  **Expanded warnings:**
> 
> Peter springs the daddy kink and feminization on Stiles without asking for an opinion or permission. He stops the sex at key moments to manipulate Stiles with his emotions and to make him use certain words. 
> 
> Peter accidentally scratches Stiles a few times and sucks on the tiny amount of blood that results.
> 
>  **Edited 8/21/16:** Formerly a collab with a friend, but they're out of TW fandom now. This was going to have two more chapters, but I don't think it's going to happen. Either way, I'm not promising it anymore. I figured that this chapter could stand alone well enough, so I marked it as complete.


End file.
